


without rhyme or reason

by wordlocker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordlocker/pseuds/wordlocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raised as demon hunters, Sam and Dean Winchester's bond is as widely famed as their extraordinary sword fighting skills. But when saving the world means being on opposite sides for the first time, will they fall back onto their love for each other or will they embrace the destiny that threatens to tear them apart? Loosely based on Ma Wing Shing's <i>Fung Wan (Wind & Cloud)</i> manga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It happens like an accident, Sam supposes. And clichéd as it may sound, with a whimper and not with a bang. But that’s how it comes to be: at age fifteen and forty nine weeks, Sam realizes that he is, in fact, in love with his big brother. 

Other boys might have chalked it off as unhealthy, uncontrolled hero worship, or plain old hormones being a dick and playing tricks on their libido. Sam knows it for certain, though. More than anything else in the whole world, what he wants to do for the rest of his life is spend it with Dean.

And that’s when Dean’s sword slices through his palm with a quiet snick and a sharp sting.

Dean’s anguished cry comes as quickly as Sam’s gasp. He’s rushing over to Sam’s side before Sam can even let go of his own blade, face pinched with worry. Sam tries not to make any more sound after that because Dean overreacts to things sometimes – especially when they mean Sam is in pain.

“Dammit, Sammy. I told you to focus!” Dean barks, although the tremble in his voice totally gives him away.

Sam fights not to hiss when his brother grabs his injured hand, still putting up a macho front. A part of him is trying not to react to Dean’s touch, though. Dean’s the most aggravating jerk on the planet, unfortunately, so he can’t help, even unconsciously, but make it hard for Sam. He cradles Sam’s hand in one of his large ones, inspecting the wound, and Sam’s traitorous dick swells almost immediately.

“Does it hurt?” Dean asks softly, chuckling when Sam nods. “What a pussy.”

They’re on the rooftop of their building and away from the first aid kit, so Dean leads him to where their provisions are, picking up Dad’s trusty flask. It’s holy water instead of booze, but it stings all the same, Dean’s sword too sharp to not cut deep. 

“What were you thinking about anyway?”

Sam watches stiffly as Dean wraps his palm with a scrap of fabric he dug out of his duffel. “This hunt,” Sam lies. “Do you think Dad’s hiding something from us?”

Dean’s trying not to scoff, tying off the makeshift bandage with deft fingers. “He’s always hiding something from us.”

Sam cannot un-see it, how much he wants Dean _that_ way. It’s driving him crazy. “Why do you think this particular hunt is so important to him?”

Dean straightens up and regards Sam with curious eyes. “You were seriously thinking about all those things while I was kicking your ass?”

“You were not—”

“C’mon, Sammy. Live a little. Let other people worry about the hunt.”

Scowling at Dean’s irritating grin, Sam huffs. “You’re the one who keeps telling me to keep my head in the game.”

Dean’s grin fades a little, but his tone stays playful when he ruffles Sam’s hair. “Forget what I told you. I just want you to be a kid for a while.”

Sam wants to scream that he’s _not_ a kid, but he can’t say it anymore than he can say what he was thinking about when Dean nicked him. “Shut up,” he says instead.

“Good boy,” Dean laughs.

The combination of the words and Dean’s rumbling laughter makes his belly flutter, and Sam hates himself a little for it.

 

.

 

They spend two weeks in the sweltering summer heat trapped in a tiny apartment while Dad runs around chasing leads on a case a couple of states over. Demon possessions are extremely rare, and the rise in missing person reports is making hunters nervous. Pastor Jim once told them that demons prefer shapeshifting because they want to be able to control how people see them, and also because they think humans are beneath them. Dean says taking a human vessel makes the demon feel dirty, filthier than being evil.

Sam spends his days practicing with his sword, making sure his newly acquired long limbs are doing what he’s telling them to do. Dean seems to think sword fighting shirtless with a hormone-ridden teenager is fun, so Sam learns to finger himself and comes quicker than he’s ever been able to, Dean’s soft grunts and instructions playing in a loop in his brain. By the time Dad’s home again, Dean’s taught him a new sword trick, and Sam’s taught himself how to brush against his sweet spot just right as he pretends his big brother’s doing it.

 

. 

 

The worst thing about being in love with Sam is how fucking terrified Dean is that somebody will find out. He’s always second guessing himself – if he’s staring too long or if the touch feels too deliberate – despite how clueless _Sam_ has been, it’s deeply embedded in the back of his mind that somebody will find out soon and everything will be over for him. It’s also hard because he can’t really talk to anybody else about it. There’s only Sam and Dad and he’s pretty sure one of them will be completely disgusted and the other would just chop his head off with a broadsword.

Dean jolts out of his thoughts when an elbow jabs him in the collarbone. “Hey, wake up,” Dad says, frowning. “Look alive.”

Dean smiles sheepishly and tunes back into their discussion. Dad’s staring intensely at the rough sketch of their attack plan and Sam’s looking bored out of his mind at the other end of the table, chin in his hand. “Why’d you think they’re flocking to this one place?” Dean asks just to break the tense silence.

Dad sighs, rubbing his mouth with one hand. “I don’t know. Demons don’t exactly run in packs.”

Sam shrugs, leaning back in his chair, endless legs sprawled all over the place. “Maybe they’re like a gang? With a leader of some sort?”

Dad stares at him with that look that Dean knows Sam hates, the one they never see directed at Dean, critical and assessing. “I’ve never heard of that, but it’s possible,” he says after a while.

Sam doesn’t look particularly pleased. Dean can almost see the cogs in his brain turning, calculating how sucky it would be to have to disperse a band of demons as opposed to their usual one or two. Dad clears his throat, possibly uncomfortable that Sam’s came up with a theory before he could, and moves to clear the table. It’s as good as a dismissal, so Dean moves as well, folding maps and straightening stray notes as he goes. “When are we leaving?”

“They’re not going anywhere,” Dad says gruffly. “Let’s take a day tomorrow. We’ll leave at dawn Monday.”

“Awesome,” Sam mutters from where he’s still sitting, perfectly aware that Dad can hear him. Sometimes Dean wonders what sort of reaction his brother’s looking for. Dad’s not giving him anything at the moment, stuffing the last of his things into a duffel and leaving for his bedroom. “I’m getting some ice cream,” Sam announces cheerily. “You want some?”

It takes some time for Dean to smile and nod, but Sam smiles back brilliantly anyway.

 

.

 

It’s too dark to see anything. Sam can hear Dad and Dean’s voices, though, nothing too urgent, simply talking out their plan of attack. He has his trusty long sword gripped tightly in one hand, eyes squinting to adjust to the dark, and he’s using the voices to guide his way. There’s a few more seconds of hushed talking, and then total silence. Dad’s shouting makes Sam jolt, and Dean’s screams move him into action, too-long legs scrambling to get to his brother in time. Swords clash and the ring of it doesn’t comfort Sam at all, gory thoughts running rampant at the forefront of his mind.

Dad’s trapped underneath a pile of broken shelf, his sword flung halfway across the room. Half a dozen bodies litter the floor and panic rises into Sam’s throat as he searches for his brother’s face. The demon – the only one left standing – sees him and her lips curl into a wicked grin.

“My, my. Looks like it’s my lucky day,” she says gleefully. “All three Winchesters,” she looks at John. “The damned, the broken, and –” she pauses, swinging her gaze toward Sam, the look on her face almost awed. “The boy king.”

Words fly right over Sam’s head as he watches Dean climbing to his feet with a struggle. A little beaten up, but safe. Dean’s sword glints inside his grip.

“Shut up,” Dad growls, breath coming out in a wheeze. “Don’t you dare—”

“Oh, John,” the demon tsks, twisting her wrist in the air and making Dad moan in pain. “You are a terrible father. You didn’t tell them, did you?”

“Tell us what?” Dean asks hoarsely. 

Sam recognizes it as a distraction, sees Dad inching out of the rubble, but a part of him still wants to know the answer.

“Why, your destiny, Dean-O,” she chuckles. “You know why you boys are so good at this?”

Dean’s smirk looks like a watered down version of his original. “Lots and lots of practice and passion?”

She smirks back, her teeth stark white against the red of her lips. “It’s in your blood, honey. Well, not _your_ blood, but—” she screams so loud, Sam jumps back from where he’s standing.

Dad’s sword pierces her from the back through her ribs and Sam watches, mesmerized, as the girl in front of them disappears. The demon’s true form is hideous – eerie black eyes, spit frothing at its jowl, flesh made up of rotting meat and old blood. In a split second it swings around and its talons catch Dad in the chest. Sam chokes on his own breath, frozen to the spot, but Dean recovers enough to pick up his blade and aim for its neck. It drops to the ground before Dad does, and Sam’s whole world shatters at the impact.

Between him and Dean they manage to carry Dad’s body to the car before anymore demons show up. Dean isn’t even crying, not like Sam is, but something in his eyes has changed, hardened.

“What do we do now, Dean?” Sam asks as they drive aimlessly with their father’s remains in the backseat. 

Dean doesn’t answer.

 

.

 

Dean doesn’t talk to him until after Dad’s pyre has cooled on the ground. 

“We need to find help,” Dean says.

He doesn’t sound like Sam’s brother at all.

 

.

 

It takes them three days to track Castiel down. Dad doesn’t really keep an address book of his contacts, and judging from how long it’s been since the boys have seen the man, it’s safe to say that they didn’t really part on good terms the last time. The email Dean sent a couple of days after Dad passed bounced back before he received a coded message in his inbox the next day telling them where to go. 

The drive is long and Sam misses the time when riding in the Impala with Dean in the driver seat was the best part about moving around, when he could sprawl and read and nap in peace, the sound of Dean’s fingers tapping out rock rhythm lulling him. Now Dean drives like he’s on a mission – which, come to think of it, he is – neither listening to his usual cock rock tapes nor entertaining Sam with gross tales that he makes up on the fly. Sam watches him glaring at the road, jaw squared and green eyes stone cold underneath his sunglasses. Sam feels the sudden urge to touch him, to see if he’ll break out of the trance he’s been in.

When Dean _does_ speak, his tone is suspiciously soft. “Do you need to stop or should we just push on until we find a decent motel?”

Sam doesn’t hesitate much, the thought of Dean even having time to think about Dad if they stop at a gas station or rest stop making him want to scream. “Just keep driving,” he says, not really meeting Dean’s eyes.

It’s insane, what he’s thinking of doing. But Dean appears relaxed already, perhaps enjoying the purr of the Impala’s engine and the calmness that it always brings him. Sam shouldn’t be jealous of a piece of metal – it’s absurd, and the only consolation he can grant himself is that maybe after tonight he will be the only one Dean needs above everything else in their lives.

 

.

 

There’s a twinge at the back of Dean’s neck that’s been there ever since they lit Dad’s body on fire. Dean tries to ignore it as much as he can, but driving across the country in Dad’s car and using his fake credit card to check into a motel doesn’t help any. So Dean doesn’t talk, thinking of how it must be the way he copes with loss. Thinking of almost-five-year-old him humming to Sam instead of singing his favorite lullabies after Mom passed.

Sam rushes out of the car like his ass is on fire, duffel almost dragged against the tarmac of the parking lot as he babbles something about calling first shower. Dean’s exhausted and he can almost feel every bit of road dust and grime on his skin but he finds himself only watching Sam dashing into their room, shaggy hair disappearing behind the door. The room’s sparsely decorated, and it’s a lot cleaner than the last one, so Dean breathes a tiny sigh of relief. From the sound of the shower running he can tell that the water pressure’s decent, too.

“Sammy, save me some hot water!” he yells through the commotion as he set his things on the bed closest to the door. Old habit, that, protecting his little brother from the outside world.

“’Kay,” comes Sam’s reply, muffled.

A week ago Dean wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about his brother in there, miles of smooth boyish skin shiny with water, long-fingered hands running over chest and belly and – Sam’s always half-hard in Dean’s fantasy. It’s not difficult, really, considering the number of times he’s seen the kid naked in the past couple of years. He’s never really looked at Sam’s dick, though, and – _God_ , Dean should never ever think about that, let alone at a time like this.

Sam’s clammy touch surprises him. “Shower’s yours,” Sam says gently, huge hazel eyes staring at him. Dean can usually read Sam like a book, but the look in Sam’s eyes at the moment is completely foreign to him. Pupils blown, Sam watches closely as he swallows, following the bob of his throat.

Dean’s mouth is barely open to ask him if everything’s alright when Sam closes the distance. It’s a quick, barely-there kiss, but their lips part slowly, Dean’s bottom one snagging Sam’s. “Sammy.”

Sam blinks, rapid and scared, his voice coming out hoarse. “I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “Shouldn’t have – shouldn’t have done that.”

There are probably a few things that Dean should do or say in this situation, but none of them sense to him. “Why did you?” he asks instead.

Sam’s gaze darts from the floor to Dean’s knees and back again. “I don’t know. I just need to know that you’re okay, I guess.”

It’s the most terrified Dean has seen Sam in so long. Ever since he graduated from wooden sword to his trusty long sword when he was thirteen, Dean’s brother has been fearless. “Hey,” Dean says softly, ducking so Sam can’t avoid his eyes. “I’m okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Despite Dean's comfort, or maybe because of it, Sam's shaking, his pupils blown wide. "Dean," he manages, his voice making him sound younger. "Please."

It should've stopped Dean from doing what he's doing, which is winding his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Sam's head and pressing their foreheads together. "I've got you, kiddo. C'mon, I've got you."

Sam goes down easily once he hits the edge of the bed, long legs sprawled wide. He's tenting his towel, massive and unencumbered. Dean's kneeling between his knees before he even thinks about it, palms on Sam's thighs. Sam nods, his eyes big and pleading. When Dean undoes the knot at his waist, Sam’s breath hitches.

"I know," murmurs Dean, trying not to whimper at the sight of his brother's hard cock. "Know what you need, Sammy."

"Do it," Sam says almost coyly. His dick twitches in Dean's fist and he moans so prettily that it almost distracts Dean from the task at hand. Dean’s silent as he jerks Sam off, leaving Sam’s whimpers and tiny keening noises as the only sounds in the room. It drives Sam insane when Dean strips his dick faster, nearly as desperate for Sam to come as Sam is. “ _God_ , Dean. I can’t – please – c’mon.”

Dean’s lips find a spot right behind Sam’s ear that makes him buck helplessly. He kisses and mouths the soft skin there, alternating between wanting to leave his mark and not. Sam’s whole body responds to his touch amazingly, dick throbbing and balls tightening in anticipation of his orgasm. It’s even more incredible than Dean’s imagined it to be, Sam’s spine curved in a beautiful arc, mouth slack in a voiceless shout as he comes long and hard. The pain of his abandoned cock is the only thing that’s keeping Dean grounded, keeping him from lapping up the string of jizz all over his wrist and palm. Dean wipes his hand off on Sam’s discarded towel even as Sam pants, trying to catch his breath.

Sam squirms and stretches, his softening dick tacky against his pale thigh. “Let me—”

Dean gets up before Sam can touch him, careful not to flinch or make a face. “It’s fine,” he says, letting the hand on Sam’s thigh linger a bit to soften the gesture. “Just need to wash up.”

Sam lets him go, but Dean can feel his brother’s gaze on him even after he shuts the bathroom door.

 

.

 

Castiel waits in the doorway with a warm embrace and a shot of whiskey for Dean when they see him. He’s closer to their age than their father’s, a child prodigy of the demon-hunting world. He’s always been friendlier to Dean, though, for some reason that Sam refuses to look into. It used to be Sam was jealous of how easily he caught Dean’s attention, stealing Dean’s time away from Sam. Now it’s a whole different level of possessiveness.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Castiel speaks in that odd monotone of his. He clasps Dean on the shoulder and gives Sam a wide-eyed, sympathetic look.

“Yeah, well. He died fighting,” Dean shrugs, eyes on his own feet.

Castiel waves them inside, the air inside the cabin a welcome warmth from the cold outside. “What can I do for you boys?” he asks, taking a seat on one of the armchairs in the living room.

Castiel’s cabin is surprisingly neat, only rows and rows of books and journals lining the wall opposite the stairs and a few seats surrounding the beat-up coffee table. Dean releases a breath slowly and takes the couch, leaving the other end for Sam to sprawl on. “The demon that got him,” Dean starts, eyes squinting through the tears that he doesn’t want Sam to see. “She talked about – Sam and me, about our destiny, our blood. Do you know what she was talking about?”

It takes just a bit too long for Castiel to come up with an answer. When he does, he doesn’t see the need to hide the truth. “Your dad knew this. There’s something about you that nobody but me and him know. About why you’re here.”

“Here in this cabin?” Sam asks, a little too foolishly, perhaps, but he’s more afraid of the other option.

Castiel shakes his head, his gaze kind. “You two were put here, on this earth, for a reason. Fighting demons isn’t a choice with your family. It’s in your blood.”

“That’s what she told us,” Dean interrupts, body leaned in close. “Tell us everything you know, Cas, please.”

For as long as Sam has known Castiel, he’s never been one to speak half-truths. That’s exactly what drew Dad to him, aside from the impressive skills and knowledge he had even as a young boy. Sam appreciates that about him, too. Only now he’s too anxious to be anything near appreciative.

“Your mother made a deal with a crossroads demon once to save your father’s life.” Castiel shifts in his seat, his blue gaze never leaving the couch in front of him. “This demon knew about you even when you were just a notion, knew what it would mean to let the two of you live out your destiny.”

“There’s that destiny crap again,” Dean grumbles, his brows bunching. “Are we supposed to know what the hell it’s all about?”

Castiel shrugs. “If it were up to me, you would. Your father never did agree with me on that.”

Sam blurts it out before he can think too much about it. “Is it something to do with my blood?”

Castiel looks at him, and in the split second before he nods, Sam feels his breath catching. “It is said that only the child from your parents’ bloodline would wield the sword that would kill that demon.”

“And it’s Sam?” Dean asks, worry rife in his voice.

Castiel chooses not to confirm it, simply moving on. “He could’ve gotten rid of you guys when he – when he murdered your mom, but he needed one of you, still, for reasons none of us know.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I found the demon for him,” says Castiel, giving space for them to interject before going on. “His name is Crowley, and although he was the one who was responsible for Mary’s death, I didn’t think he was the one calling the shots.”

“What did Dad think?” Sam leans forward, eager to know.

“Frankly, John never thought ahead of avenging your mom’s death. It was all he could think about, and even when we found out about the prophecy, he thought he could protect you.”

“How powerful is this demon?” Dean asks seriously. “You think we can defeat him in a fight?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Not with the skills you have now. You’re both amazing at what you do, but this isn’t your usual, run-of-the-mill demon. It’s destined for a Winchester to kill him, though, so you just might need a little help in figuring out how.”

It’s Sam’s turn to ask the question now. “And you know a person?”

“I know someone.”

 

.

 

Dean uses his sword like he’s dancing. Sam has always been enthralled by it, his movement fluid and precise. He grew up watching Dean perfects his skills, wishing and hoping he could look half as awesome as his big brother whenever he picked up a sword. Dean continues to grow leaps and bounds ahead of him, however, and although his skills are nothing to be ashamed of, Sam’s always the one with more power than finesse when it comes to sword fighting. 

It snowed a lot last night and the outside of Castiel’s cabin is white with it, a perfect backdrop for Dean’s performance. He sees Sam watching him and even from yards away his blush is visible. His steps don’t falter, though, his trusty longsword making quiet snicks through the icy air. One flick of the wrist and a graceful swerve to the right and he’s done, polished blade pressed to his side.

“You wanna fight me or are you trying to freeze yourself to death?”

Dean has on a heavy jacket over his usual practice gear and Sam’s in a pair of jeans and two layers of shirts. All he can think about is stripping naked right there, striding right up to his brother and _doing things_ to him. His cheeks heat up at the very thought and Dean’s still standing there, sword unsheathed and feet buried in snow.

“I want to kiss you.”

Dean’s green eyes widen with shock before they darken over, lids lowering half-shut. “Jesus,” he breathes. Sam looks down and he’s hard in his breeches, supple leather unable to hide the evidence. He lets Sam near him, putting away his blade before Sam can grab him by the arm. Dean’s mouth is soft against Sam’s, hot and wet inside when Sam goes deeper, tongue battling for control. It’s nowhere near as tentative as the last time, fingers scrabbling for clothes and hair and bare skin. Sam pulls back to nibble down Dean’s neck and he makes the sexiest sounds Sam’s ever heard, one hand cupping Sam’s ass and squeezing hard.

A strong gust of wind stops them short, both shivering at the cold, and they exchange looks before silently deciding that a change of venue would be smart. “Wood shed,” Sam suggests, already dragging Dean away. His brother makes a noise of protest, but Sam can feel him rubbing up against a hard thigh as Sam half pulls and half carries him off. 

It’s not particularly warm in the shed, but at least they won’t get frost bite and they actually have plenty of flat surfaces to choose from. Dean’s surprisingly quiet, lips slack only to breathe out moans and soft, keening noises. Sam loves him like this, too, when he’s not being mouthy and brash. He kisses Dean like time is running out, and Dean gives back just as good, like kissing Sam is second to nothing. Dean grunts when Sam slams him against the corner wall, dust motes flying all around them, intermingling with the snow they have in their hair. Dean’s smile is possibly the brightest Sam has ever seen, and he was there when Dad handed over the keys to the Impala. It makes his gut clench, heart pounding in his ribcage like it’s trying to escape his chest.

“Gotta be quick,” Dean pants, teasing the skin beneath Sam’s navel with his fingernails. “My balls are about to fall off from the cold.”

Sam laughs, capturing Dean’s smiling mouth in a bruising kiss. “Let me blow you.”

Dean’s knees actually buckle at that, and he buries his nose in the crook of Sam’s neck, hot breath tickling. “Fuck, Sammy, yeah. Please.”

It’s funny to Sam that Dean even feels the need to beg. He’s attacking Dean’s leather breeches like it’s a mission, exhaling with a shudder when Dean’s thick, blood-flushed dick springs free. Sam’s mouth waters before he closes it around the head, warm, sticky precome bursting across his tongue. He goes with his gut after that, alternating between licking and sucking along Dean’s length. Dean goes crazy for it, hips jerking and fingers twined around the mass of Sam’s hair, groaning encouragingly one minute and keening desperately the other. Sam’s torn between wanting his brother to come in his mouth and feeling it on his skin for the first time.

Dean makes the decision for him, pulling out right before he shoots, aiming for Sam’s upturned face. Sam’s cheeks and lips are drenched when he sticks out his tongue to catch the last few drops, earning a near-painful groan from Dean as his cock twitches valiantly. Dean’s gaze follows Sam’s tongue tip as it swipes clean most of the mess around his mouth and on his chin, shivering with the afterglow. Sam makes an undignified squawking sound when Dean pulls him to his feet, one thigh pressed against his erection.

“C’mon,” he says breathlessly, the tip of his ears and nose pink from the cold. “You can swallow for me when we’re not fighting hypothermia.”

Cooling come and spit dribbling down his face, Sam flushes. Anything he plans to say after that gets drowned out by helpless moans when Dean maneuvers his hips for him, rubbing Sam off against his leg. The pressure is maddeningly light, but the friction is enough to make Sam’s balls tighten. His jeans are tacky with his release after what feels like hours, his whole body humming with pleasure. Dean lets Sam nuzzle his jaw, moving only to redo his pants and steal a kiss, soft lips and slick tongue lulling Sam to sleep.

Dean swats his ass and chuckles when he jolts. “Let’s make a move, Sasquatch. We don’t want you evolving into the Abominable Snowman.”

Sam winces at the stiff front of his jeans, ducking his head coyly when Dean tugs on his chin and cleans the rest of his come on Sam’s face.

Castiel’s head is buried in an enormous book when they get inside, and if he sees the way their hands are casually linked, he doesn’t make any comment about it.

 

.

 

“She’s a demon,” Sam hisses, hand automatically reaching for the hilt of his sword. Next to him, he can feel Dean tensing up, shoulder rigid against his own.

The girl – the _demon_ \- pouts mockingly. “Oh, way to be racist, guys.”

Dean looks away, shifting his glare to Castiel. “What the hell, man? This is your solution?”

Castiel has the decency to look contrite. “I told you you might not like it.”

“There’s no _might_ here, Cas. I can’t even begin to describe how much I hate this idea.”

“Dramatics, much?” the demon taunts, sashaying away from the doorway into the room. She’s eyeing Sam and Dean back and forth, and for a split second Sam’s terrified that she knows about them, about what they’ve been up to when no one is looking. She smirks but doesn’t say a word.

“Alright,” Dean says. “Just tell me how the hell can this demon bitch help us and I’ll consider it.”

She tsks. “Is that any way to talk to your future savior?” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dean replies dryly, arms crossed over his chest.

“It’s not your consideration to make, anyway,” she smiles sharply, turning away from Dean to look at Sam.

“Why me?” Sam blurts, anxiety cramping low in his belly. “Dean’s the better hunter.”

She cocks her head at him, oddly sympathetic. “What can I tell you, Sammy? Dean’s not the chosen one. You are.”

“Chosen by whom?” Dean demands to know.

She shrugs, her tone airy. “That info is way above my pay grade, sorry.”

Dean’s eyes narrow into slits as he assesses the girl. She’s pretty, long dark hair and chocolate brown eyes with a wide, pink mouth. He’s looking at her as though he can see past that – past the generous breasts and the tantalizing curves of her hips – never wavering once. “Why are you even trying to help us?”

She doesn’t answer right away, although it doesn’t seem like she’s trying to stall for time to build a lie. “The short version of it is that I don’t agree with what Crowley has planned. Frankly, I hate the guy. Even more than cocky, hardheaded hunters who keep trying to kill me.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re sure this is the only way, Cas?”

Castiel sighs, mouth set in a grim, tight line. “I’ve gone through hundreds of lore and ledgers, Dean. Not one of them mentions a way to kill Crowley. The way I see it, it makes sense that only a demon would know how to kill a demon that powerful.”

“The guy makes an excellent point, no?”

Dean ignores her, continuing to glare at Castiel and looking to Sam for a reaction. “I don’t know about this, Sammy. Doesn’t feel right to me.”

Sam lowers his voice, leaning in close. “I’m not sure either, but if this is the only way to get rid of him I don’t think we have any other choice.”

“You don’t have to like it,” the demon interjects, her face carefully schooled. “You just have to trust that I can help you.”

Dean scoffs. “The day I start trusting a demon is the day hell freezes over.”

“Funny you should mention that. You do know Crowley plans to take over the pit, right? When he succeeds with that, he can do whatever he wants with it. Even bring it up here to share the fun with you guys.”

Dean squares his jaw and Sam cuts in. “We don’t care what he wants. He killed our mother and caused our father’s death. We just want to return the favor.”

“Good,” she nods, sidling close to Sam. She smells like vanilla and sugar cookies. It’s jarring, knowing that underneath the exterior is a hideous creature that might just be playing them right now. She smiles sweetly, her eyes round with what’s scarily close to honesty. “Then we’ll do just fine.”

“Aren’t you going to tell us what it’s going to take?”

Her smile widens. “There’s time for that. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

“Awesome,” Dean deadpans. “Something to look forward to.”

She looks up to Sam, eyes heavy lidded. “I’m Ruby,” she says breathily. “I can’t wait to work with you, big guy.”

 

.

 

Sam doesn’t bother being quiet, knowing how light of a sleeper Dean is. He’s lying down on his bed, staring at the pockmarked ceiling. He shifts to the other end without saying anything, leaving a big enough space for Sam to crawl into. Sam does, slipping under the covers and snuggling up to his brother’s side. He remembers the time when Dean would let him do this every night, barely six and hours of sword practice under his belt. The weight of his wooden sword always left a singe of emptiness where he’d been gripping it tight when he went to sleep at night. Dean would take his hands and stroke the palms one after the other until he fell asleep.

Sam sticks out his hand and Dean takes it, fingers curling into Sam’s lifeline. “You’re afraid for me,” Sam whispers, feeling like a child again. “Don’t be.”

“Working with a demon, Sam,” Dean sighs, eyes shut tight. “Every fiber of my being is screaming about how wrong that is.”

“It’s saving the world. We’re meant to save the world.”

Dean opens his eyes and turns his head on the pillow, watching Sam’s eyes. “You really believe that?”

Dean’s always been skeptical about fate and destiny, only ever living his life one slash of his sword at a time. Sam doesn’t know what he believes in apart from his brother. “I have to,” he says softly. “You’re gonna have to believe me.”

Dean nods, tilting his head to the side so Sam can rest in the crook of his neck. They’ll get in trouble if Castiel finds them in the morning like this, maybe, but it won’t be the worst thing that they’re doing in the next few weeks.

“Sleep,” Dean says, and Sam sleeps.

 

.

 

Dean isn't sure what to expect when they find Ruby waiting for them in Castiel's study the next day. He certainly doesn't expect her to be so fucking obvious with her hard-on for Sam. Thankfully Sam doesn't appear to be swayed, although he blushes every time she talks about how _large_ he is. It's so ridiculous that even Castiel is making faces behind their back.

"What exactly am I supposed to do with you?"

Dean feels the urge to grab Sam and kiss him for keeping them on track. Ruby stops batting her eyelashes for a second, as if suddenly realizing that there are other people in the room and work to be done. She takes a stand in the middle of the space, and all of a sudden she doesn't look so harmless in the girl's petite body anymore.

"To defeat Crowley, you must let your demon in."

Dean scowls, impatient. "What does that even mean?"

"Everybody has a demon inside of them. Don't tell me one of the most feared demon hunters doesn't know that."

Sam steps in before Dean can reply, her sarcasm unappreciated. "We know that. Stop being so fucking shifty about it and just tell us what it'll cost."

"I'm going to teach you how to embrace your demon, Sam," she explains, eyes steely. "In order to be strong enough to kill Crowley, you are going to have to learn _our_ tricks, learn how _we_ do it."

"You want me to learn the demonic arts? It's against everything I've ever been taught."

"You call it demonic, we just call it sword fighting. Think of it as you learning another sect's techniques."

"This is bullshit," Dean snaps, stepping in between his brother and the demon protectively. "It's stupid and dangerous and I'm not gonna let you do this, Sammy."

"Dean."

"No! What if you learn their way and you lose control of yourself? What if you -?"

"What?" Sam asks sharply. "If I become one of them? Come on, Dean. That's insane. Would you do it if it were you?"

Dean shakes his head, fists balled at his sides. "No, I would never. But there must be another way. Dad wouldn't allow this."

Sam explodes, anger and frustration coloring his tone. "Dad isn't here anymore, Dean. Even if he is, I’m still going to do it, because it’s the right thing to do.”

Sometimes Dean can see why Dad’s always butting heads with Sam. The kid’s more stubborn than both him and Dad combined, and once he’s believed in something he’ll fight for it tooth and nail. Dad never learned, but Dean knows that the harder they try to tether Sam, the harder he’ll try to escape.

“We’ll figure something else out, okay?” Dean coaxes, desperate and scared. “Let’s not decide yet.”

“I'm stronger than you are," Sam claims, jutting his chin high. "I can do it. I can control myself."

Dean looks at his brother closely - cheeks stained pink, eyes bright hazel. Sam has always been confident, raised by Dad and him to be, but never cocky. It's disconcerting for Dean to watch this side of him. "Sam, I don't - "

"He's right," Castiel speaks up, touching Dean casually on the shoulder. "Think about it, Dean. You're grieving your father, but more than that you're angry. You're always angry. You're not in good condition to risk losing your way to the dark arts. In this case Sam _is_ the best choice."

Dean looks to the floor, avoiding everybody's gaze. His eyes sting with something he can't recognize, pulse throbbing in his temples. He can feel Sam watching him, waiting. "Just," he pauses, glancing up at Sam, "be careful, Sammy."

Sam nods gently, hair in his eyes, and Dean's reaching out to push the strands off his face before he can think about it. There's no mistaking how far past brotherly the touch is, and Dean finds himself not caring what Castiel and Ruby think, letting his fingers linger as long as he can.

Ruby steps closer, severing the tension, her tone calm. "If we combine Sam's sword skills with what I'll be teaching him, we should be successful. Don't worry."

Dean keeps his eyes on Sam's downcast face, not sparing even a glance for her. "Just keep him safe."

"Scout's honor," she says, grinning sharply.

 

.

 

Ruby's a surprisingly patient teacher, giving Sam enough freedom to discover the skills at his own pace, only stepping in when it's absolutely necessary. Sam tries not to think about how devastated Dad would be if he knew his son is learning the ways of demons. He stays optimistic, reminding himself that he's going to do good with what he's learning. He's going to turn the demons' tricks on them. He has a chance to save the world and avenge his parents' deaths and he's going to take it.

His sword sings as he run through the basic moves, counting steps the way Dean taught him to, keeping himself grounded. Ruby stays in her corner, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She looks so much like an ordinary girl like that. Sam breathes out slowly, transitioning into a move of his own, larger arcs of his blade quite different than Dean's methods. Ruby smiles at him when he pauses, signalling for him to add the new moves to his steps. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, chanting under his breath and allowing the hidden parts of him to enter. Just like every time he does, they take over his movement, arms and feet moving almost on their own accord. His broad sword slices the air in aggressive swipes, not slowing for a second. Sam has never felt so powerful before, fearless and as he's sure as he can be when faced with a demon. Ruby promises to spar with him when he's truly ready, and he can't wait for the day to come, to have a true target in front of him, to be a hero for once.

He secretly wonders if this is what it feels like to be possessed.

 

.

 

Dean's breath evens out, sword laid out on his lap. It's quiet on the field behind the cabin, perfect for clearing his head. It's at the back of his mind, Sam taking in the wrong mores, turned beyond repair. It scares him more than anything he's ever feared before. For years, ever since he picked up his first blade, sword practice is the only thing that has calmed him. So here he is, the tricks he's garnered over time playing like old films behind his eyelids.

It comes to him slowly but surely. All his new moves do. He lets it trickle in, adjusting every step in his head, projecting how it'll work in practice. The more he thinks about it the better he feels about it, how amazing it'll be to use his sword with those movements. He moves without falter, twisting and spinning with his sword, letting the weight of it guide him as he parries back and forth. He bends at the waist and jabs, pent-up rage about his father and fear over his brother driving his blade. It clicks, everything does, every step he makes and every stroke. They’re together, his sword and him. Dad used to talk about it, being one with their blades, and how you'll know exactly when it happens. The Winchesters are the best at what they do, but Dean has never felt this way when he carries his sword, so swift and tranquil when he fights.

He brings his sword down for the last time when he notices Castiel watching on the side, the amazement blatant on his face. Dean sheathes his sword and approaches him, chest heaving with exertion. 

"That was incredible," Castiel says, his blue eyes appraising. "New trick?"

"It just came to me," Dean shrugs, never really good at taking compliments. "Feels good."

Castiel smiles, big and warm. "This is what makes you guys the best hunters in history, you know."

Dean scoffs. "We're good because Dad trained us to be."

Castiel tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed. "So modest when you don't need to be. You're the glue that keeps your family together, Dean. This works because of you."

"Shut up. That's stupid."

"You do realize that you're the only Winchester that's doing this for the right reason, don't you? It's not about revenge or anger for the world with you. It's about hunting evil and saving people. _That's_ what make you so good."

Dean shakes his head, chuckling. "If you're such a huge fan, buy me a drink and we'll call it even."

Castiel smiles. "Deal."

 

.

 

Sam slips into Dean's room a week after he started his lessons. It's been days since they've seen each other. Dean returns his brother's weary smile and kisses him, slow and sweet, hands tangled in Sam's unruly hair. Sam licks into his mouth and deepens the kiss, breathing hot against Dean's cheeks. Dean pulls back, smiling mouth pressed to Sam's. "You feeling okay, Sammy?"

"Just miss you, that's all."

Dean grins, ruffling his hair. "Missed you too, kiddo. How're your lessons going?"

"They’re going," Sam says, nuzzling Dean's jaw. "I - it feels good sometimes, Dean."

Dean hums distractedly, eyes slipping shut. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"I'm scared of it," Sam admits. "I'm scared of how it makes me do things I've never been able to do before, how strong it makes me."

Dean opens his eyes, catching Sam in his embrace. "If anyone can do it, Sammy, you can."

"It's hard to control now, Dean. What if it becomes worse?"

"Then I'll be here," Dean says, kissing his temple. "As long as I'm here, nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Sam nods, pressing himself closer to Dean's side. He falls asleep minutes after, face buried in the crook between Dean's neck and shoulder. It's hours before exhaustion finally takes over for Dean, his sleep laced with the vision of his brother hacking into his chest, eyes solid black and unseeing.

 

.

 

Dean's eyes burst open at the scream. For a minute he's disoriented, not knowing where he is or where the voice had come from. He has his sword in his hand, and he'd been lost in his meditation for a while, snow piled up high all around him. The cold only registers when he starts moving towards the cabin, panic clawing up his spine. He reminds himself that Sam is away for the day, Ruby claiming that it's time for the last stage of his lesson and he's not to be disturbed. It still sends him into a frenzy, knowing that the scream was very human.

Castiel is not where he's supposed to be. Dean runs across the hall to the study and finds him lying on the carpet in a pool of blood, sticky red and still sluggishly leaking from his body. Dean rushes to his side, breath caught completely in his throat.

"Whoops," comes an amused voice to his right.

The guy is greasy-looking, despite being dressed in an impeccable suit. He smirks and Dean's up on his feet, snarling. "What the fuck did you do?"

The guy shrugs, hands clasped at the front. "Nothing, really. I almost always forget how fragile you people are. I barely touch this one and suddenly he’s bleeding everywhere."

"You're Crowley." It's not a question, and Dean's hand is already at the hilt of his sword, ready to strike. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I think you know. Am I late, though? Has it already happened?"

"What are you talking about? What's going to happen?"

Crowley cocks an eyebrow, lips curling delightedly. "You don't know? Then I guess I'm not too late. Where's the little brother, Dean?"

Dean schools his expression, not wanting his worry to show. "He's off kicking ass somewhere, I bet. I heard he's gonna be the death of you soon."

"Off fucking around with that little sexy thing, you mean? Oh, Ruby works fast, I see," Crowley teases, dark eyes glinting.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asks, voice finally wavering. Sweat is dripping slowly into his eyes, but he's afraid to blink, lest the target before him disappears.

"You mean you _really_ don't know? Are you sure you even want to? What your precious baby brother is up to these days, consorting with demons and hamming up his powers. Oh, the bloodplay and the sex alone, let me tell you, it's exhilarating." 

Dean's dizzy with all the information, the images it’s conjuring in his brain making him queasy. "You're lying," he says, weak and thin. "Demons lie."

"Darling," Crowley coos. "We tell the truth most of the time. You humans just don't like it."

"Sam's not - he's not."

"Did you really think it's because he's the so-called chosen one? That's a load of bullshit. It's always been him, Dean. It's been him before you were even born, before your parents even met, before time."

"I don't understand," Dean frowns, the hand holding his sword limp at his side.

"It's in his blood. Don't you know what that means? Little Sammy has been sucking down demon blood since he was a babe," Crowley says, smarmy grin in place. "He's ready now. We just need to push him a little bit more and we'll be golden."

"What do you want from him?"

"Come on. I'm not the kind of a girl who'd kiss and tell. You'll just have to wait and see."

Dean seethes, bracing himself for the wave of anger that's starting to come over him. "Did you send her to us?"

"Of course not," Crowley scoffs. "We want to do things our own way, Ruby and I. So if you would be a lamb and tell me where she's taken dear Sammy, I'd appreciate it."

"Why the hell would I tell you where my brother is?"

"Because, Dean, it’s going to happen to him anyway. It's just a matter of the trigger being pushed by me or her. She's done a lot already, I'm sure, so I'll definitely send her your love and my thanks when I see them."

"I don't know where they are. She doesn't want him to be disturbed."

"He's at meditation stage already?" Crowley beams. Dean half expects him to rub his hands together while laughing evilly. "That's very good. I'll get going, then. Wouldn't want that little bitch to steal my punch line."

"I don't think so," Dean growls, sword at the ready. The sound of blood is rushing in his ears, heart hammering in his ribcage. He knows he's not in the best form to kill the demon, destiny or not.

"What are you even going to do, Dean?" Crowley laughs. "Do you think you can kill me?"

"I can try," Dean says, trying to get his breath under control. It works, and his pulse steadies in time for him to get into position. He's had very little time to perfect the moves, but it's his best chance of winning.

Crowley stands his ground, fingers twitching at his sides. "Come on and try me, big boy."

Dean lets himself go, falling into step as easy as breathing. He moves quicker than the demon expected, he can tell, forcing him back over and over. Crowley's squeezed into a corner as Dean keeps swinging, the force of his blows leaving the demon no space to strike. Their swords clash and spark on contact, and Dean has the upper hand. Crowley wriggles his way to the front door, taking a cut on the back of one hand doing so. He hisses and Dean waits for the usual satisfaction to come in, but it never does. He's preternaturally serene, only moving by instinct by now, his sword dictating his moves.

Outside in the snow, Crowley gains his advantage. Unruffled by the cold, his swings become looser and better aimed. Dean struggles for a while to keep up, his arm aching a little from the blows he's given. Crowley fumbles a step at the last minute, catching them both by surprise. Dean takes the chance to breathe a little through the overpowering madness to make him pay, going slightly into meditation mode, which he's never done before.

The demon mistakes it as him being careless, rushing forward to run his broadsword into Dean's shoulder. He misses by half a foot when Dean spins to his right, time seemingly slowing down for him to decide his next move. His long sword goes through in one thrust, Crowley's shocked face going tight before his mouth falls slack. For a long minute his features morph from the man in the suit into his original form, blood red eyes hollow and jagged teeth tacky with spit. Dean twists his blade one last time, feeling it cut through the soft organs, rivulets of blood sluicing down the steel and onto his wrist. Crowley's last breath leaves him in a shudder, his monstrous face shutting down before Dean pulls his sword out.

Sam's level tone shocks Dean out of his calm. "That's supposed to be my kill."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam wonders if this is what it feels like to be on drugs. He tries not to think about how disappointed and betrayed Dean would be if he ever caught Sam like this – high on demon’s blood and the sense of power rushing through his veins. The cut on Ruby’s arm is leaking ceaselessly, sticky and thick on the tip of Sam’s tongue. It tastes like iron, like the time Dean dared him to lick the old sword they found in their dad’s storage facility. 

“You wanna try again?”

He opens his eyes to see her standing over him, her red lips curled into a sweet smile. He nods, climbing out of bed and stretching. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

She takes his hand and leads him out to the back of the motel, depositing him onto the spot she’s picked for his meditation. For something he’s never done before, it’s surprisingly easy to slip into. His subconscious takes over and the chanting flows smoothly. Meditating feels like walking through a familiar house in the dark – he knows exactly where he’s going, but he can’t see it. His sword seems to hum from the rush of energy, trembling at his side where it’s partly buried in the ground. It’s unlike learning a new sword trick from Dad or Dean, where steps need to be learned and rehearsed over and over, it’s like being shown the way and getting it effortlessly, like his mind and body are just relearning things they already know well. There are voices in his head apart from his own, which is sort of new, and Sam strains to hear what they’re saying.

“Please concentrate, Sam,” Ruby reminds him. “You wouldn’t want to be distracted when he comes.”

He doesn’t know who she’s referring to, and he wants to ask, but the longer he keeps his eyes closed the louder the voices get and the harder it is to stop his mind from wandering. Even when he wills his eyes to open, the dark seems to cloud his vision, the oily black of it clinging stubbornly. When it’s clear and he can see again, his sword is already in his hand and he’s moving to steps he’s never even seen before. He doesn’t do this – come up with intricate sword moves that look _and_ feel amazing, it’s what Dad and Dean do. He gets lost in it just as easily as he gets lost in his meditation, hearing and seeing nothing but how he moves with the blade. He’s almost there – he’s unsure where – he can feel it, and Ruby’s blood is singing inside of him, driving him closer and closer to the brink.

Dean’s screaming is soundless, but like a cold spike through his core, Sam feels it instantly. They’re rarely apart, Dean and him, but Sam remembers the times when he’s felt his brother’s pain like it’s his flesh being torn apart even when they’re hundreds of miles away from each other. They never entertain it, chalking it off as the same weird bonded thing that lets them know what the other is thinking about at a particular moment. Dean’s anguish yanks Sam out of his daze, severing the current of power rushing through him. Close by, another voice shouts at him, terrified and desperate. Sam recognizes it as Ruby’s.

His brother’s calling out to him in agony, but something’s tethering him in his spot, the sword in his hand poised to attack once more. In the next breath he takes, Sam decides. He’s never been able to resist Dean, and he never will.

Something within him snaps, Ruby screams again, and Sam has a split second to realize that his whole body is shivering from the cold and he’s coming apart at the seams. The slick dark sludge from before crowds in again and Sam only has enough control to lash out at the arm that’s holding him still, keeping him away from Dean, before all he sees is black.

 

.

 

There’s something wrong with Sam’s voice. It’s missing the usual lilt that’s distinctively _little brother_. He sounds older, more composed. Ruby’s training is changing him and Dean’s not entirely sure he likes it.

“What happened?”

Sam’s question jerks Dean out of his reverie and he drops his sword to rush to Castiel’s aid. It’s wishful thinking to hope to find a pulse, but Dean searches for it anyway. He comes up empty and his whole body slumped forward, trembling lips pressed to Castiel’s clammy forehead. He’s aware of Sam’s hand on his shoulder but he hardly feels it.

“Dean.” There it goes again, the alien tone. “What happened here?”

Dean gets up from his knees, clearing his throat before speaking. “Crowley,” he says hoarsely. “He – I was too late. He asked me about you. About whether it happened already.”

Sam looks placidly at Castiel’s prone body, shoulders shifting as he breathes evenly in and out. “Do you know what he meant by that?”

“I think we both do,” Dean says, echoing Sam’s calm. “What did she do to you, Sammy?”

Sam shrugs, the beginning of a smile on his lips. “What she did _for_ me,” he corrects, the glint in his eyes unmistakable. “I feel…different.”

“You _are_ different. Sam, what did Ruby do to you?”

Sam blinks and seems to think about it for a moment. The razor-edge grin he gets from it makes the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand. “Why,” Sam pauses, making a satisfied noise in the back of his throat. “She got me ready, of course.”

“For what?” Dean asks through gritted teeth, unconsciously reaching for the hilt of his sword.

Sam eyes his movement closely, but he doesn’t seem nervous about it. “For me,” he answers casually. “I saw you just now, Dean. That new trick of yours is strikingly magnificent, I have to say.”

Dean doesn’t fall for the bait, keeping his hold on his sword as his legs get into position. “Who are you? What have you done with my brother?”

The creature wearing Sam’s face probably doesn’t feel the need to pretend any longer, the look in his familiar hazel eyes dimming. “Oh, I have a lot of names,” he shrugs. “The Big Guy, Morningstar, Satan…”

“You’re the devil?”

“That’s right,” he snaps Sam’s fingers, eager and pleased. “That’s what you people like to call me. I prefer Lucifer, myself.”

Dean tries to take it all in, but the one thing niggling at the back of his mind won’t let go. “What have you done to my brother, you son of a bitch?”

“Calm down,” Lucifer groans, looking down at Sam’s body. “He’s in here, somewhere. Although, brother? C’mon, the things you do with the kid are even ghastlier than what we did with him.”

Dean wishes he could shut his body down and not listen to anything else the devil has to say, but he needs to know what happened to Sam. So he tries to maintain eye contact and not see the person standing before him as his brother. It gets easier as he looks a little longer – Sam stands even taller like this, like he has nothing to hold back, like he’s not afraid to intimidate. The quiet confidence he’s exuding is laced with a cockiness that Sam’s never learned to master. Dean tips his head up and stares at Lucifer. “You picked the wrong kid to possess. I’m going to tear you apart for hurting my brother.”

Lucifer laughs, the familiar sound of it making Dean flinch. “That’s cute.”

“Why him?” Dean asks, keeping his rage under control. His voice still shakes with it, but Lucifer’s stopped watching him very closely. “Even if Mom made a deal with you guys, why Sam and not me?”

Lucifer smirks, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Jealous, are we?” he taunts. “Oh, well. Firstborns,” he stops to jut his lower lip out. “Firstborns are tricky.”

“So, what? You’re just going to take Sam’s body out for a joyride?”

“I don’t see why not,” Lucifer shrugs, trailing Sam’s hands down his chest. “It’s quite a beautiful vessel, I’ll admit. Plus, he has my blood pumping through him. That’s always a plus.”

Dean adjusts his stance and grips the hilt of his blade tighter, breathing measured. “Leave my brother alone, I mean it.”

“What?” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up mockingly. “You think you can stop me, boy? You have nice moves, I’ll give you that. But you won’t even get near me.”

“Try me,” Dean smirks, sword unsheathed, swung, and primed.

He doesn’t see Lucifer move, and when next he blinks and his brother’s face looms over his, he almost jumps back in shock. 

“Maybe next time, darling,” Lucifer coos, his breath oddly cold against Dean’s temple. “Sammy and I have work to do.”

He’s gone just as easily as he appeared, taking Dean’s brother with him. Dean waits until his heart stops trying to break free of his ribcage and the sting at the pit of his stomach subsides before he breaks down next to Castiel’s body and cries himself hoarse.

 

.

 

The first thing Dean thinks to do is go back to where his brother was supposed to be last. The motel’s half an hour walk away from the cabin, its neon sign boasting free Wi-Fi and cable TV. He doesn’t know what he expects to find there until he follows the path leading to the back of the place. Ruby’s slumped against a dead tree, eyes half shut and unseeing. He’s not sure how long she’s been there. She’s badly hurt, but not enough for her human disguise to slip away. She’s bleeding everywhere, and Dean shudders when he realizes that there are marks where she’s been split open, the red smeared like she’s been fed on. _Sam’s sword and Sam’s mouth had been there_ , his brain supplies, bile rising up his throat.

She smiles, crooked and brittle, when she sees him. She takes Dean’s hand for support with her right and coughs out a thick, slimy blood clot into her left. She gurgles on it when she speaks. “Nothing – there’s nothing you can do now. It’s too late.”

Dean props her up against the tree and glares at her. “I’d say _watch me_ , but it looks like you won’t be living that long.”

She laughs bitterly at that, clutching her sides when it gets too much. “You are such a petty little bitch, Dean.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “Why’d you do it? What are you getting out of this mess?”

She sighs, looking sad and scared for the first time since they’ve met. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Sam’s supposed to contain him. I don’t know what happened, but he took over and it’s not Sam anymore. It’s not your brother anymore.”

 _I know that, he wants to yell_. But he needs more answers. “Tell me what’s happening, Ruby. Why’s Sam caught in all this?”

She coughs again, nails biting into Dean’s forearm. “I’ll tell you if you do me a favor,” she says, almost like a whispered secret. She’s eyeing the blade by his side, silently begging him to put her out her misery. Dean’s not entirely sure he wants to.

“Tell me and I’ll think about it,” Dean counters, steeling his expression.

She nods and makes a pathetic noise when her shoulder shifts. Dean fights not to wince. “Sam’s the chosen one. The vessel. He’s the only one meant to bind with Lucifer and free him. But I didn’t mean to _release_ him. He’s not supposed to take over.”

Dean hears what she’s not saying in a beat. “You wanted to control the devil. You stupid fucking bitch. You screwed my brother to do it.”

“I sure did,” she chuckles, her voice finally breaking. “He only did it because it’s wrong, you know? That’s how I got him. It’s pathetic how much he missed you when he was with me. So I reminded him how _dirty_ it is, doing it to me, just as dirty as you two doing each other.”

She’s aiming to piss him off, for a clean and quick death. He stares at her instead, until the sick, gleeful look in her eyes goes away and the desperation takes over. He stands over her, sword to her neck, and does her a favor. He turns around and leaves before her true face comes through.

 

.

 

There’s a girl standing near Castiel’s smoking pyre. Dean manages to stay calm, fingers ready to draw his sword, until he approaches her. She looks up and Dean’s breath catches a little in his throat. She’s shockingly beautiful, large green eyes brimming with sympathy. 

“I’m too late, aren’t I?” she asks, not looking away from Dean.

Dean relaxes his arms, bobbing his head slightly. “I guess so. Who’re you?”

She blinks at him, expression so familiar Dean tries to recall if Castiel ever mentioned having a sister. “My name’s Tessa. I’m a friend of Castiel.”

Dean’s pretty sure word hasn’t gotten out yet about Castiel’s death, and it’s unlikely that her visit is coincidental. “You’re not another demon, are you?”

He feels silly as soon as he says it. He’s learned to spot a demon since he was a gap-toothed boy in denim overalls. She doesn’t call him out for being an idiot, though. “No, I’m not.”

She’s not human, either. Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know what exactly she is. “Are you here to help?”

She nods, dark hair falling into her eyes. “You’re the only one who can stop him, Dean. I need to tell you that.”

“What do you mean? How?”

She steps forward, looking up at him with unmasked fascination. “You’re the firstborn that’s going to defeat him. That’s why it had to be Sam.”

“Because if I kill him, I’ll kill Sam,” Dean mumbles, a wave of nausea hitting him hard. “That would never – I’ll never be able to do it.”

“There’s another way,” she says calmly. “You need to perfect your steps before you face him, but if your brother can banish Lucifer out himself, you won’t have to kill him.”

It’s the best news he’s gotten since he walked out of that fucking warehouse with his dad’s body in his arms. A flash of worry rids him of any relief, though. “I don’t know if Sam’s strong enough.”

She continues to look at him with too-knowing eyes, her words spoken like she’s rehearsed them over and over in her head. “Everybody has a weakness, Dean. But more often than not, it’s the same thing that makes them strong.”

Dean doesn’t pretend he understands what she’s saying. He just knows that they don’t ever have any choice when it comes to their life. “Guess I should start training, then.”

“He isn’t far,” she assures him. “You’ll always find your brother. When the time comes, you’ll know where he is.”

“Thanks,” he mutters darkly, arms crossed over his chest. “That isn’t cryptic at all.”

She smiles for the first time, reaching out to touch his hand. “You’ll do it, Dean. I know you will.”

Her touch leaves his skin heated, and he wonders silently if she’d been lying about being a demon. He watches her walk away, relishing the weight of his sword on his back before he pulls it free and starts to swing.

 

.

 

Lucifer lets him see everything, censors nothing if he feels like Sam’ll squirm and hate him for it. He doesn’t hide what he knows about Dean and what he’s doing. Seeing it all in lurid, detailed flashes just makes Sam anxious about how calm Lucifer is about the whole thing. It gives something for Sam to hope for, though, when nothing else seems to matter.

Lucifer’s planning something, the one thing he keeps away from Sam, and when Sam comes to days after another blackout, they’re in Lawrence. 

It takes Sam a few minutes to gather his bearing, a few more minutes to assess the situation, to check for mutilated bodies and pools of blood. His blade’s sheathed at his back, and they’re standing in a quiet cemetery with no other soul around them. He flinches when Lucifer starts talking, still not used to the stab of pain whenever he takes over.

“I don’t like things messy,” he says, the smirk obvious in his tone.

“Great. An anal retentive demon. Just what the world needs.”

They turn towards the voice, Sam’s heart swooping in his chest. Lucifer doesn’t seem affected, that condescending smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m not exactly a demon, you know that, right?”

Dean smirks right back, Sam’s big brother’s bravado coming off in waves. Sam knows where to look, though, and he sees the tight line of worry in the corner of Dean’s green eyes. “I know.”

“Anyway. You’re just in time, Dean.” Lucifer spreads his arms wide, spinning around in a circle. “I was just about to unleash hell. Literally.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen,” Dean shakes his head, still smiling. His sword’s still strapped to his back and Sam’s heart pounds for him.

“What? Are you going to stop me?”

Dean looks straight at Sam, switching into his big brother tone. “Sammy, you’ve gotta help me, okay? I’m not going to leave this place without you.”

“That is simultaneously the sweetest and most pathetic thing ever,” Lucifer mocks, circling Dean.

“I’m not leaving you alone, Sam. You have to help me.”

“Hmm,” Lucifer hums, reaching back for Sam’s sword. “How about no?”

Sam’s never seen his brother move so fast. Their blades ring as they clash, the reverberation from the hit causing Sam’s hand to shake. Dean’s surely moving into his next stance, the fluidity mesmerizing even from behind Lucifer’s cage. Something’s different about the way Dean’s moving, Sam can tell. He’s nearly gentle about it, easing into another step like water flowing. Lucifer’s busy blocking his swipes anyway, Sam’s brute force giving him advantage in the way of power. Where Dean used to attack at every given opportunity, the way Dad trained them to, he’s merely reacting to Lucifer’s blows now. Every swing and parry precise, like he’s predicting chess moves. Lucifer still has the upper hand, jabbing at Dean without mercy. Sam’s demon-tinged blood hums through his veins, channeling energy out into a flurry of movements that leave Dean scrambling.

“C’mon, Dean,” Lucifer sighs, blade locked with Dean’s. “Don’t make it so easy for me. Where’s the fun in that?”

Sam’s brother’s face is pink with exertion, green eyes meeting Sam’s. He’s refusing to attack because Sam’s still inside, and Sam aches to yell at him to just kill him and end everything. After what feels like hours, Dean closes his eyes and steps back. Sam’s terrified that Lucifer’s going to thrust his blade right through his brother and make him watch. Instead he seems stunned at what Dean’s doing, breath evening out as he slips into meditation. Sam’s never seen him like this, sword vibrating as if floating out of his grasp. Lucifer refuses to dwell oin it too long. He wields Sam’s sword, taunting Sam with premonitions of Dean split in half, guts piled on the ground, and brings it down before Sam can register anything. His blade strikes hard, Dean’s trusty weapon colliding into it with a deafening ring.

Dean’s eyes slowly flutter opened, soft breath fanning across the back of Sam’s hand. He feels it as well as Lucifer does, jarring in the face of all this intensity. The cemetery seems to grow even quieter and the only sound Sam can hear is the beat of his own heart. 

“You’ve learned a few tricks,” Lucifer grins, refusing to drop his mask of confidence. Sam’s insides burn with the conceit, making him squirm to break free. From his mouth, Lucifer’s laughing. “Sammy’s impressed too, big brother. Such hero worship.”

Sam watches for a crack in Dean’s calm exterior. They’ve always been each other’s weak spots, but this time Dean doesn’t falter. He’s looking _at Sam_ , past Lucifer’s meat suit, pleas and promises in a single look. Sam realizes with a start that Dean’s going to do it, going to get rid of Lucifer, at all costs. 

Dean’s sudden movement angers Lucifer, forcing him to slash a little harder, Sam’s sword cutting through air before it hits flesh. Dean flinches, blood gushing from the gash on his chest, but the grip on his sword remains. Lucifer grins wider, pushing Dean further and further back. He’s too strong, and Sam can’t stop him from carving into Dean’s body. He struggles harder but Lucifer grows angrier, cutting Dean open with every swing of the blade. Dean’s still standing, sword poised high, when Lucifer rushes forward to deliver the final blow. Dean steps up, closer, and Sam braces himself for when the blade goes through. It’s almost slow motion when Dean spins to the side, their shoulders brushing. Dean exhales and Sam feels it on his cheek like a brand, enough to distract the devil and give his brother the chance to slip away. Dean’s blade catches the sunlight glare and it blinds Sam for a second, so much that the sting from it slicing through his skin is a surprise, making him jump. Lucifer’s rage wells up inside of him, and Sam watches as Dean stands still, sword tightly pressed at his back, not knowing what to do.

The warm trickle of blood down his wrist is what jolts him awake. Sam tests the hold Lucifer has him in and finds it missing, the throbbing of his cut palm drowning the black haze covering his mind. Sam manages to take control again, head aching and wound bleeding, and he slides into meditation, meeting Lucifer in the middle. The devil’s pissed, more than shocked that the rein slipped from his hold than anything, and Sam smiles as he figures it out completely.

“Sammy,” Dean calls him, soft and distant. It’s enough.

Sam presses into his wound, wincing at the pain, and concentrates on driving Lucifer out. It’s difficult to stay focused, keeping his breathing steady and remembering his chants when Lucifer’s clawing at his conscience, but he tries his hardest. The devil’s closing in on him again, so Sam presses harder, remembering the first time Dean’s blade cut him open, remembering that it’s his brother that reopened the wound, trying to save the world. Sam breathes out and opens his eyes and feels the devil worming out of him, tastes sulfur at the back of his throat.

Lucifer isn’t hideous, not like the rest of the demons they’ve hunted. He looks surprisingly human, tall and lean with an intelligent glint in his pale eyes. Sam starts to think that maybe he’s shifted that way, but then he remembers that the devil isn’t really a demon. Lucifer wears his sword at his side, dark scabbard a contrast against his white suit. He’s reaching for it, moving so fast Sam barely has time to catch his breath.

Dean comes out of nowhere, blade meeting Lucifer’s before he can reach Sam. They slide off each other and Dean swings his sword in one large arc before taking it down again, missing Lucifer’s neck by a mere inch. Sam comes back to life when Lucifer aims at him again, taking advantage of how out of it he is. He blocks it just in time, the impact of it making his arms twinge. Lucifer snarls and tries again, blue eyes stormy and wicked. Dean’s on the move, unending, perfectly timed attack keeping the devil on his toes and Sam stops to figure out his next step. He remembers the way Ruby’s training made him feel, the rush of knowledge and power it gave him. He’s battling himself, trying to figure out if it’s worth it. Lucifer dodges Dean’s blade and lunges for him again, so Sam makes a decision. 

It comes as easily as always, breathing in and breathing out, Sam’s eyes open on the next inhale and he spins into the blow automatically. Lucifer has to jump back to evade him, growling at them both. They’re circling him now, and Sam’s ready to strike, seeing his next move as clear as if it’s happening in front of him. Dean parries and ripostes without even taking a breath, and Sam has to fight not to be so enthralled by his dance-like moves. Lucifer seems to sense his waning focus and strikes hard and fast his way. Dean’s there to block it, two swords vibrating before Sam’s face. He recovers swiftly this time, advancing on Lucifer surely. Dean pivots smoothly around Lucifer, his blade glinting in the sun, and Sam watches as he swings it downward, striking through the meat of one shoulder. Lucifer’s bloodcurdling scream echoes through the graveyard, and before it fades, Sam has run his blade through the devil’s chest. He waits for something astonishing to happen, bright lights or bursting flames, but Lucifer simply crumples at their feet, pupils blown and mouth slack.

Dark, near-black blood drips from the point of Dean’s sword when he pulls out, and he drops to his knees instantly. Sam is there in a second, stained blade thrown to the side as he checks his brother over. Dean’s bleeding badly from Lucifer’s cuts, on the edge of going into shock, and he grabs onto Sam’s shirt at once. Sam’s crying, he realizes, for the first time in so long.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean whispers. “It’s going to be okay.”

Sam glances over to Lucifer’s body, the urge to fillet him rising by the second, but he’s brought back to reality when Dean’s hold on him loosens. It takes him almost too long to get Dean to the car, back straining to carry the extra weight, but he makes it. Dean’s unconscious through the hour-long journey, and Sam can’t seem to get his heartbeat back in rhythm. He helps Pastor Jim clean the wounds and every cut he touches reminds him that it came from his sword. He makes Pastor Jim promise to contact him once Dean’s awake and rushes back to Lawrence. He debates on the way about what to do with Lucifer’s corpse, but when he gets there he preps the body on autopilot, watching the bones burn to the ground. He leaves not knowing if it’s enough, wondering if one day the devil will return and ride his body again, exacting revenge on his brother. 

Sam waits for four hours next to the bed before Dean finally opens his eyes. His brother smiles weakly when he sees Sam, and Sam has to grab his hand just to keep from crying in relief. Dean’s grip is tight, belying his exhaustion, and Sam realizes Dean’s afraid of losing him again.

“We did it, Sam.”

Sam’s speaking through the lump lodged in his throat, trying hard not to mumble. “I’ve to go, Dean. You’re safe now, so I have to go.”

Dean scowls, wincing as he sits up. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, hating the break in his voice. “I did this to you, and I can’t – I don’t want it to happen again.”

Dean’s voice is grittier than usual, the gravel of it wearing Sam’s courage down. “It won’t. You don’t have to leave, Sam, c’mon.”

“I need to, Dean. I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to go,” Dean pleads, eyes red-rimmed and wet. “You can stay. Please stay.”

Sam yanks his hand out of Dean’s and steps away, taking in desperate breaths to calm his heartbeat. “I can’t. I can’t, Dean. I’ve to go.”

“No!” Dean’s halfway out of bed, doubling over when he pulls his stitches. “Please, Sammy.”

It breaks his heart, but he keeps going, the sound of his brother’s voice staying with him for a long, long time.

 

.

 

Sam leaves and Dean does the only thing he knows how to do anymore. He’d thought the amount of demons would either increase or decrease after Lucifer, but it’s not the case. It’s business as usual, only they seem to hate him even more now for killing their father. Dean fights and gets rid of them one by one, immersing himself in the hunts. It’s almost therapeutic how it sometimes keeps his mind off Sam.

He finds out what Tessa really is the second time she appears to help him with a case. The second he knows, he’s aching to ask her the question he’s been asking himself for weeks. “Yes, your brother’s still alive,” she says before he can even open his mouth.

He doesn’t need to ask her anymore after that. He hears rumors about a Winchester brother taking down demons from across the country now and then. It’s Sam’s way of letting Dean know he’s alive, and doing what Dad had raised them to do. They’ve always been known for being inseparable - _burn down Paradise to get to each other_ is a description often used – so Dean tells them that they separate to cover more places, knowing that Sam will tell them the same thing.

He gets a text on his birthday, the first and only contact from Sam. He smiles at the _happy 21st, Dean. hope you’re not doing anything stupid_. He gets a couple of drinks at the bar in town just for the principle of it before returning to the motel giddier than if he were drunk. He shoots Sam a reply before calling it a night, happy grin plastered on his face. _being legal is totally overrated_.

 

.

 

Detoxing is the hardest thing Sam’s ever done. Harder than even leaving Dean. The first few hunts he’s on, he stays and watches as the demons bleed out, willing himself not to stoop down and lap it all up. 

The shaking doesn’t come until after two weeks. Sometimes it’s so bad that he wishes some demon would come for him, just so he can slice it open and drink from it. He misses the power, almost as much as he misses Dean. Dean, who taught him everything he knows.

So he does everything he knows. He hunts and he practices with his sword, shutting down his thirst and waiting for the time he can finally return home.

 

.

 

It’s eleven months and sixteen days before Dean sees his brother again. He comes back from an all-night hunt, scratched and bruised, to find Sam sleeping on his bed. He’s wearing a pair of Dean’s old boxers, low slung and paper thin. Dean runs his gaze across the dip of his spine as he dozes on his side, wondering how much taller he’s gotten since he left. Dean’s careful to set his scabbard down quietly, stripping down to his underwear. Sam’s waiting for him to come back, Dean realizes, so he climbs in next to him, one hand on the jut of Sam’s hip and the other tangled in the mess of hair spread on the pillows. Sam tenses for a second, breath hitching, but then he’s pressing back into Dean’s body, exhaling easily.

“What took you so long?”

Sam snuffles, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “Had to make sure I wouldn’t hurt you again,” he murmurs sleepily. 

Dean presses kisses along the breadth of his shoulder, tracing the constellation of moles against tanned skin. “I can take care of myself, you know?”

Sam rolls over and smiles softly at him, a little sheepish. “I had to leave, Dean.”

Dean’s heart stutters just looking into those hazel eyes, and he has to lick his bottom lip before he speaks. “Never do that again.”

“Okay,” Sam says, eyes cast down. He shivers at Dean’s touch on his chest, miles of smooth skin flushed. He’s even more beautiful than Dean remembered, muscles filling out nicely. “I promise.”

“I’m afraid we’d have to seal the deal properly for it to count,” Dean says, earning an amused laugh from his brother.

Sam grins, teeth stark white against his wide pink mouth. “You’re such a slut,” he groans, but he’s leaning into the kiss right away, tongue readily tangling with Dean’s.

They’ve never said the words _I missed you_ , and they never will, but the desperation in the kiss and their roaming hands speak volumes for them. Dean’s fingers catch on the waistband of Sam’s boxers, and he takes his time teasing the soft skin underneath Sam’s navel before he slips inside. Sam’s cock feels heavy and rigid in his palm, and Dean just has to look down to see it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth nearly watering at the sight. He lets it go and watches as it bobs against Sam’s taut belly. His little brother’s thicker and longer now, like his dick is trying to catch up with the rest of his body. The tip’s glistening wet, slightly shrouded by the extra skin. Dean peels it back gingerly, stomach tightening at Sam’s soft whimpers as he does it. He doesn’t think twice before going down on Sam, tongue sliding under the rim and around the head, teasing. Sam bucks, and a drop of clear fluid beads at the tip. Sam’s so responsive it’s driving Dean insane. He pulls off just to see the look on Sam’s face. “So fuckin’ hot for me,” he teases.

Sam whines, a combination of dulcet masculinity and boyish pitch at the back of his throat. “Can I?” he begs, grinding his groin against thin air. “C’mon, Dean. I wanna.”

Dean has no idea what Sam wants, but he has a strong feeling that he’s going to grant it anyway. “Yeah, okay,” he rasps, jerking Sam off lightly, letting Sam push his boxer shorts off. “Just let me—”

Dean swirls his tongue around Sam’s cockhead over and over, then alternates between licking down and mouthing at the shaft. Sam goes crazy when he laps along the vein on the underside, mouth falling open and pink tongue pushing up into his upper lip. Dean jerks him again, silky skin hot and ruddy, and kisses the tip reverently. Sam’s taste makes his head spin, so he digs into the slit and draws it out, precome and spit dribbling down his chin.

Sam gasps, large hands cupping his face and pulling him off, thighs quivering around Dean’s head. “Can I fuck you now?” he groans, long fingers choking the base of his dick to keep from coming. His cheeks match the shade of his blood-flushed cock now, and Dean can’t look away. He nods, swallowing around his tongue, and Sam smiles wide and happy as he returns the favor. 

Dean’s dick twitches at the press of Sam’s bruised lips and hot breath. Sam moans and goes straight to town, throat clutching Dean in the most delicious way. He can feel his balls tightening when Sam licks further down, tongue tip curling and coaxing him open. Dean’s clawing at Sam’s hair, back arched helplessly, making all sorts of embarrassing noises. Sam seems to love it, judging from the eager way he’s eating Dean out. Dean’s never dreamed that his little brother could be this filthy-sexy-hot, tackling sex the same way he approaches his sword lessons. Sam finally takes pity on him and pulls away, crawling up Dean’s body to kiss him again. The slick and sticky way their dicks rub against each other forces Dean to dodge Sam’s mouth and starts rooting inside the small bag he keeps in the bedside drawer. He tosses the tube of lube onto the bed and continues searching for the familiar foil packets.

“Shit,” he groans when his fingers meet nothing of the sort. “We don’t have any condoms.”

Dean’s half expecting Sam to grin mockingly and whips out a string of Trojans, being a total boy scout and all, but his brother simply licks his bottom lip and gnaws on it. “Have you—?”

“Not much,” Dean answers automatically. “’S why I’m out.”

“I haven’t,” Sam says, bangs in his eyes making him look all of five years old. It’s hard to argue with his brother when he looks like the precocious brat that Dean’s been trained to look after. “Do you trust me?”

Dean nods, eyebrow cocking just at the fact that Sam has to ask him that. “Got tested a couple of months back,” he offers in return, although the thought of risking it with Sam is making his insides twist. “Or we can swing by a store on our way out tomorrow—”

“No,” Sam snaps, legs trapping Dean on the bed as he straddles Dean’s middle. “Can’t wait.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Dean swears, willing his dick to behave for once and not come before Sam can fuck him. “Okay, okay. Just – do what feels right.”

This time it’s Sam’s turn to give him a look. Dean wonders if Sam’s been researching this – the art of gay sex – while he’s away. He wouldn’t put it past the little geek. Sam grinds down and Dean’s pleasantly reminded that he’s not so _little_ anymore. Sam fingers and scissors him open almost clinically, but the blow job and rimming has been enough to make Dean needy for it anyway. The press of his baby brother’s fat, juicy cock against his thigh makes his hole flutter around Sam’s three fingers. Sam seems to sense the desperation, and wastes no time in pushing Dean’s legs open and slotting his dick in. 

The burn’s uncomfortable, and it must show on his face, because Sam stops sliding inside, sweat dripping from his temple. Once Sam bottoms out, they pause just to share breaths, lips barely brushing. Dean moans and Sam starts moving, the drag of his brother’s cock against his prostate making Dean writhe shamelessly. Dean’s never fucked raw before and the feel of naked skin pressing intimately against his drives him insane. Sam keens every time he thrusts in, like being inside Dean is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Dean kisses him once, twice, rakes both hands down his chest, and Sam rocks forward helplessly, splintering apart. He’s babbling Dean’s name as he comes down from the high, hips stuttering in and out before he pulls out abruptly. Dean gasps at the sudden loss, but the gorgeous look on his brother’s face is enough to placate him for a moment. Sam pumps his cock jerkily, sticky dribbles of come landing on Dean’s stomach. 

Dean’s reaching out to finish himself off, but Sam shoves his hand aside and pins it to the bed. “Not finished with you, yet,” Sam growls, rubbing their noses together. He holds his still-hard dick and positions it at Dean’s wet opening. When the thick head pushes at his rim again, Dean feels like he can come just from it alone, and he’s begging endlessly for Sam to go faster and harder.

Sam doesn’t disappoint, screwing into him relentlessly. Dean’s only half aware of the words that escape his pleasure-slack mouth, catching his brother’s name entwined with praises and curses and pleas. Sam eats them all up, grinning into the kisses when Dean rocks back into his thrusts. Dean’s orgasm catches him completely by surprise, body tensing tightly and dick shooting endlessly all over their stomachs. Sam keeps fucking him through it, taking pleasure in the jolts of aftershock that shake Dean’s whole body. He comes again before Dean finishes shuddering, hips slamming against Dean’s as he jerks mindlessly, shouting voicelessly. Dean rubs along the curve of his beautiful spine to help him calm down, and Sam laughs into the crook of Dean’s neck, happy and content.

 

.

 

Sam wakes up alone, sheets tangled around his waist and the obnoxious clock radio blaring some awful country rock right into his ear. It’s still early, barely any light filtering through the motel’s flimsy curtains. Sam debates between getting up for the shower and waiting for Dean to drag him out of bed for breakfast, or better yet morning sex. One look at the space where they’ve stashed their duffels and he decides against both. Dean’s sword is missing.

His brother’s outside, dressed in jeans and a Henley, cheeks pink from the chill. Sam wraps his arms around himself, suddenly aware of the temperature, and curls his toes into the shaggy carpet. If Dean doesn’t move into his newer tricks, sensual and sexily dangerous at the same time, Sam would’ve thought that he hadn’t noticed Sam watching. Dean doesn’t show off very much, doesn’t understand how amazing he looks when he gets like this, but they’ve been apart for so long that he doesn’t mind the staring. His blade catches the glint from the early morning sun and for a split second Sam’s brother is bathed in the ethereal glow, before he swings it back down and the ring of it slices the air. 

Sam grins, walks back inside to put on some clothes and grab his sword, and comes out to join his brother.

**Author's Note:**

> → much, much love to my lovely beta, cherie_morte for making this far better than I thought it could be. Any remaining mistakes are mine.  
> → special thanks to millaje for picking me and for the amazing art, and also for making me a part of your creative process. ♥  
> → thank you also to the samdean_otp minibang moderators for hosting. You guys did a marvelous job! :)


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